


Earn Your Stripes

by XDragonessX



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XDragonessX/pseuds/XDragonessX
Summary: Snotlout is tasked with his Jorgenson initiation by his father - its not entirely pleasant.





	Earn Your Stripes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a writing competition so everything is slightly condensed into just under 3000 words (2999 to be exact). Enjoy :)

A Taste of Snotlout's Childhood.

****  
"See you later Haddock!" A six year old Snotlout sneered to a cowering young Hiccup huddled under a doorstep, battered and bruised.

The blue-eyed boy strode proudly home, chest puffed out, shoulders rolled back. Though however much he tried, he could never quite replicate his father's air of authority wherever he went, nor did he even resemble the man too closely (though he did try). 

Unlike his father, his eyes were an icy blue and always twinkling with mischief, yet they still remained large and full of somewhat innocence. His man muscle had not yet filled out, though he tried his best when training. The effort he put in for his father was uncanny, even one year saving up all the gold he had to purchase an almost brand new ram horn helmet (it was the closest he could find to match) that was miles too big and fell over his eyes constantly. Nevertheless the young viking was proud of it and did his best to showcase it wherever he went.

Just as the sun began to sink on the horizon he arrived in the doorway of his home. The stout oak door was hard to push open, but Snotlout always insisted on doing it himself and not knocking for entrance. He grunted at the groans of the door until it eventually creaked open to reveal the innards of the Jorgenson household.

A roaring fire burned under a large iron cauldron, the contents inside bubbling and steaming. Some candles were lit and placed on small shelves and drawers, with a pair of decorative pieces either side of the mantlepeice to add some glamour to Spiteouts trophy wall; various weapons of individual importance including axes swords and a bludgeon. Several animal heads also hung, dull and lifeless - a little intimidating to most children including Snotlout, but he never dared show it. The heads included several deer, a large sea bass on a wooden platter and (possibly the worst one) a large bear's head that his father had achieved during his Jorgenson initiation when he was just nine months old (or so Snotlout was told). 

The first thing the little boy done when he got home was run to his mother who was at present sitting in the old rocking chair in the corner sewing. She was a frail thing, hollow in the cheeks and dark under the eyes; and as pale as snow like she rarely saw sunlight. Snotlout always told her she should eat more and go out and play more, only to be given the same answer: 'The role of a mother is to care for her family not herself.' Her wispy dark hair was always scragged back in a messy braid, making her face appear even more thin.

"Momma I'm home!" The little boy chirped, dropping the 'man of importance' posture and sprinting over to his mother only to throw himself into her lap. The small woman jumped at the increased weight on her lap and quickly held the cloth she was working on aloft so as not to have it wrecked. "Be careful son, you might get stabbed by the needle," she chuckled. Her son got comfortable and quickly began chattering about his adventures. 

"Guess what I done today mom! I went to the market with Uncle Hedgelout and we got some chicken feed, and then I went and played with Ruff and Ruff and we had a competition to see who could throw the dagger the furthest and I won! And then I went and took care of Stoicks runt! He really shouted today - it was hilarious!" The boy was so excited he didn't notice his mother's disapproving look.

"Now Snotlout how many times do I have to tell you, it's not nice to be so mean to your cousin!" Her son pouted and shrugged.

"But dad said I need to show people I'm the boss! And he's easy to practice on!" He exclaimed. His mother sighed.

"Just because your father says so does not mean you should," she mumbled quietly. Snotlout cocked his head confused.

"But you always do what he tells you?" He said bewildered.

"Yes I do," she whispered, avoiding his eye. "But I'm a wife and that is my job," she quickly picked up, returning to her sewing. Snotlout looked to her steady hand. 

"Momma, do you think you could teach me how to do that?" The boy grinned eagerly. His mother looked to him surprised.

"Why would you want to learn how to sew dearie?" She quizzed. He smiled and looked away for a moment, embarrassed. 

"M-maybe I could make a nice blanket for Astrid to please her, and make dad really happy to!" He trilled. She mused at her son's interests.

"I guess if it's to woo the lucky girl your dad pointed out then I see no harm in it," she smiled. Snotlout beamed and intently watched her work as she demonstrated a few simple stitches.

*****

Over an hour had passed in Snotlouts sewing lesson, and already he could do three stitches all by himself - his favourite being a cross-stitch. His mother had insisted he use a thimble so as not to accidently stab himself, but the boy had a hand steady as a rock. He worked enthusiastically, practically buzzing with energy on his mother's lap as he worked, yet keeping the steel, calm face of concentration. He had nigh on finished his little blanket when the front door flew open with a bang, making Snotlout and his mother leap in fright.

Spitelout Jorgenson loomed in the doorway, scowl still permanent on his scarred brute of a face. He carried over his shoulder a basket laden with fish, yet even their pungent odour could not mask the stench of ale on his lips. He looked slowly over to the frightened mother and son with a sneer. "What is this?" He spat, gesturing to his nervous son holding a needle in his grasp.

"Spitelout," his mother began, standing up from the chair and placing Snotlout carefully in her seat. She tried to talk but was cut off immediately.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" Spitelout roared and his mother shrank back.

"Spitelout I was only teaching the boy -"

"To wittle away at sewing like an old hag!" He seethed. "The boy is useless as it is Ingrid and then you pull a stunt like this! He hasn't even passed his Jorgenson initiation yet; Rocklouts son passed his at three!" As he spoke with such anger he staggered closer to Snotlouts mother till he was practically on top of her, seizing her by the front of her tunic. "How dare ya!" And he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the cheek.

Snotlout winced and withdrew into the rocking chair at his mother's wail. He knew that would be coming for him soon so he may aswell own up. "Father stop!" He tried to shout, but his voice merely a squeak. The glare of his father switched to him like a dragon that had just seen prey of a more substantial size. Spitelout threw his mother behind him and she tumbled onto the wooden planks. 

There was a nail-biting silence as Spitelout paused and awaited his son to speak.

"I-I asked Momma if she would teach me to sew so I could give a blanket to Astrid to impress her - then you would have been happy to," he added, voice barely a whisper. Spitelout seemed to weigh up the boys words, but evidently they didn't process. He strode over and lifted the tiny six year old off of the chair by his front, making the terrified baby blues meet his own murky green-grey hollows.

"Spitelout stop it, he's just a boy!" His mother pleaded, grabbing his arm only to be thrown off again. 

"Now you listen boy," Spitelout started in a sinister low voice, bringing his son's face closer. "Tomorrow your going out into the woods to kill a bear, or you die trying. And if you return with nothing..." He paused.

"I'll kill you myself."

And with that, he dropped the boy and cuffed him. "Now up to your room!" Snotlout wasted no time and sprinted up the stairs, trying desperately to hold back the tears as he went.

Spitelout looked the woman getting slowly up off the floor. "Get to bed now Ingrid," he hissed, dragging her to the furs. "Tomorrow, the boy earns his stripes..."

"Or he dies."

****

He next morning, Snotlout was woken abruptly at some unknown time and yanked out of bed by his arm. He struggled to register where he was as he was tugged along through the dark village, only dimly lit by a few dying torches. No one was even out of bed yet! 

The boy was ushered along for well over 20 minutes, still rubbing his eyes when pulled to a stop at the treeline of the sprawling pine forest that coveted half of the island. He was spun around vigorously to face a stern Spitelout who thrust an axe into his grasp.

"Go." He said.

Snotlout hesitated.

"Go!" His father started angrily, raising his fist. Snotlout ran. And he ran until he could no longer feel his legs, turning back to the direction he had came longingly. That was when he realised he really was in his own. If he didn't do this he would die.

Swallowing a lump of fear in his throat, he began to trek across the undulated ground, twisting mossy tree roots threatening to trip him as he went. Snotlout had a very vague idea of where he was going. He knew the west of the island was the best place to find bears. All he needed to do was figure out what way west was. He figured he would not be able to tell at least until the sun came up - it's path would be his guide. So with that thought in mind, he huddled into a small hollow of a tree and allowed himself to sleep.

When he woke he saw the sun was well up now, and after a bit of calculating he was able to roughly figure out his way west. He walked until he felt he had worn his blisters right down to the bone, hungry, dehydrated and (although he refused to admit it) scared. He was well into bear territory now, and kept himself on high alert. 

He froze when he heard a noise other than the rustle of the trees. It sounded like a tinkly noise - not threatening. Snotlout crept slowly towards the sound, looking away as a sudden bright light crossed his vision. He looked back to see a small clearing with a spring bubbling merrily in the light. He immediately dropped his guard and bolted towards the water, throwing himself down into the boggy earth to scoop up the liquid.

His parched mouth quenched, he wiped his mouth and went to carry on his way. But as he turned, he went stiff as a statue.

A bear was staring at him.

Oh but not an adult. A cub. A tiny, bedraggled and skinny cub. It was a manky brown colour, fluffy fur knotted and most likely riddled with parasites. It had a tanned muzzle that pointed to Snotlout curiously, but brown eyes though dull still had a small spark of life in them. 

Snotlout remained unsure what to do, his axe partially raised, but he was quickly noticing the bear was not behaving threateningly - and it was only a cub! If he could lop off it's head then he could go back home alive! But part of him felt guilty for even the thought of killing it - even if it appeared on the near verge of death anyway. 

Suddenly the cub made a growling sound and turned, scuttling back into the trees. Panicked he might lose his chance, Snotlout ran desperately after it. He panted against a tree as the cub disappeared, gasping air as he eventually pulled to a halt. His eyes widened when he saw the cub, quite still, facing away from him. That was when Snotlout realised why it looked dead.

Before the little cub was the fallen giant of a huge mother grizzly bear. 

Her eyes were open yet saw no more, and gazed listlessly off into the abyss. Her innards appeared to have been partially removed - most likely by her killer or scavengers. There was a small spot of grass flattened by her head - evidently the cub had lain there since her death. It would explain why it looked in such a poor state. With no mother, the little orphan had small chance of looking after itself. It would be a miracle if it survived to adulthood.

Snotlout almost felt upset. The poor cub was all alone in the world. He had a cruel but necessary intention to butcher the dead bear (to save his own skin of course) but he couldn't just leave the cub on its own to suffer. With a deep sigh, he headed over to the mother, raising his axe.

"I'm sorry little bear," he said with pity. "But it's my skin or hers." With that he bought his axe down with a metallic 'shwing' that sung out through the trees in an eerie echo. With a few hacks, the bears head was decapitated. Snotlout swallowed but still felt the hot tears roll down his cheeks. He carried on working, arms and axe getting splattered in blood in the process, but soon he succeeded to remove not only the head but the skin from it's paws aswell. 

In the meantime the cub watched puzzled and whining, but did not try to stop or attack the boy. It seemed to mourn, laying down on its paws with a quiet whine. It waited patiently for Snotlout to complete his task until he thought he was ready to start the journey back to the village with his prize. Snotlout had already began cooking up a story as to how he killed the bear - would it be exaggerated? Well yes, he was a Jorgenson. It ran in the family.

The bear followed the boy as he hauled the bears remnants through the tangled wood. He headed in the direction of a large sinkhole in the forest where he could keep the little bear. After all, he felt as though the cub was his responsibility now. The sinkhole was aged, with trees and lichen sprouted across the once bare rock. A crystal blue lake rippled at its centre - filled with fish if the cub ever got hungry. 

Snotlout left his prize and led the cub down a winding path that held the only accessible entrance to the little haven. He led the little bear to the lake and sat himself upon a boulder half concealed in the damp earth. "Well then little buddy. This is where we split. I'll try to visit with food as often as I can," Snotlout spoke to the bear who clearly was not listening, bustling around to sniff his new environment. "You need a name," he continued. "How about Torben? It means Thors bear and, well, you are a bear." Torben took no notice. "Alright then, Torben it is." 

He stood up from his rock and strode over to the lake, seeing multiple fish glide below it's surface. He took the liberty of using his axe to craft a spear out of a chunky stick he had found by one of the trees, and spent around an hour trying to catch some fish for him and Torben. When finished he was wet through, but had five fish as his prize. 

Torben came ambling back to Snotlout who tossed him a perch and two carp, saving the rest for himself. The time drew on as he finally succeeded to construct a fire and cook his food, only to have half of one of the perch snatched by Torben. But he did not grumble with his rations for tomorrow he would be home. 

The night fell, and Snotlout finally yawned and snuggled down into a small nest of leaves he had forged. His lids were just closing when he felt the soft tickle of fur on his face. He looked up and saw his bear cub come and snuggle next to his stomach. Snotlout smiled. 

"Goodnight Torben."

The next day was busy, Snotlout had worked hard to catch a few more fish for his bear before he left, not bothering to feed himself. It was quite tough saying goodbye to the bear, but he promised he would come and see him as often as possible. He trekked up the winded path and retrieved his trophies and headed home to Berk.

The upheaval he caused when he returned was immense. But none were more shocked than his father when he opened the door to see his bedraggled son covered in blood with a decapitated head next to him. And for the first time, Snotlout's father was proud. He broke out into a surprisingly warm smile and lifted the boy up onto his shoulders and marched him around the village to announce his victory. That night Snotlout was spoiled rotten by his family, and the head and paws taken to the stuffers to be mounted, and have the paws be made into a cape.

The bombshell of Snotlouts success soon wore off as the month passed. His father returned to his angry ways, and Snotlout continued to strive to impress him. But he never broke his promise. He returned every week to his bear for the months, until one day he arrived with a large ham and he was gone. But Snotlout didn't cry. Instead he smiled. He removed the cape that he had worn since his acheivement and hid it. Maybe one day he would come back for it.

But until then, he would just continue as he was. A proud Jorgenson.


End file.
